


Remade

by Lefaym



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-06
Updated: 2010-04-06
Packaged: 2017-10-08 18:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/78120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefaym/pseuds/Lefaym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's always known him better than he's known himself (all his selves), and that's the way it should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remade

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [temporal_witch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/temporal_witch/) for the beta!
> 
> Contains spoilers for "The Eleventh Hour".

She waits until Amy has gone to sleep, which is very considerate of her, the Doctor thinks, especially after all that this latest regeneration has put her through. And it's not like Amy went to sleep quickly, either; they've saved a whole species from untimely extinction and almost died _twice_ since she first came on board, and the TARDIS has gone along with it all, setting them down in almost exactly the right place, and, well, being a good sport in general, really. She always is.

Now though—now it's her turn. They need to reconnect after all they've been through, after all the changes they've made in themselves, and the Doctor can feel her teasing gently—playfully—around the edges of his mind. She feels her way through the new contours of his brain, the sharp new synapses, and he shivers a little, because she's finding places he'd forgotten about, and places he's not known about before. He's not sure what all of them mean yet, but right now he's content just to let her explore; she's always known him better than he's known himself (all his selves), and that's the way it should be.

"I meant it, you know," he says out loud. "You really are _very_ sexy like this."

He can feel her laughing at him, because "sexy" is such a human concept, but he can tell that she likes it, too. He can tell by the way she runs herself through his thoughts, making his hearts beat faster, and by the way that she raises the temperature, just a little bit.

The Doctor raises his hand to his bow-tie to loosen it, to let a bit of air in, but something stays his hand.

_Not now_, says a voice inside his head. _Not this time_.

She's right, of course. As always. These clothes are part of him now, the new him, and she wants everything; everything that he's become. It's not as though there's any danger of making a mess, like there would be with humans. Then again, humans seemed to enjoy those messes, so...

He feels a nudge, and he focuses his attention back on the TARDIS; he can think about humans some other time. He leans over, places his hands on the console and closes his eyes, allowing himself to _feel_ her, the way she hums and glows, all the energy of the Time Vortex running through her and into him and back through her again. It's magnificent. _She's_ magnificent.

_I'm ready_, he tells her.

Of course, he never can be ready, not really—not for this. He feels something open inside him, and then she's _there_, and it's like nothing else in the universe. Inside his head, he can hear every language that ever was and ever will be and every language that ever wasn't, too; he can feel everything shifting around him, around them, lines of gold and silver, woven into an ever-changing web. He thinks he holds it in his head all the time, but when he lets her in like this he knows that he's wrong; he only sees a fraction of it. He can feel her holding him, stopping him from falling, stopping it from tearing him apart.

Every atom in his body vibrates with the life she's pouring into him, and he can hear himself crying out as she sings to him, as she beats against him and through him, as she takes everything that he is (everything that he ever has been, ever will be) and pulls it around herself. She takes so much from him that he thinks he can't survive this, and then he doesn't think, because there's no room left for thought.

He isn't sure how it happens, the return to his normal state of consciousness (not that he really knows what normal is yet). His breath is coming in short, sharp rasps, and he can still feel her caressing his mind, holding him close as he opens his eyes and sees his hands resting on the console's hard bright surface. He brushes his fingertips along every line that he can reach; none of them are unfamiliar to him now.

The Doctor lowers himself to his knees, and presses his forehead pressed against her cool hard curves.

_Thank you_, he thinks.

She pulses gently against him in response, and travels onwards, taking him where she will.


End file.
